Word Promts: 200
by Ayimil Taddy
Summary: Word prompts, randomness, drabbles, normally starring Desmond. This is meant for me to get better at writing by trying to make a post everyday. Rated M just in case. Pairing(if any) will be mixed from any and all characters. Or a little bit of Protocreed.
1. Crash

His world was crashing down. What he had worked so hard for. What he left everything for. What he had run away for. How had they found him? He made sure not to leave a paper trail. To leave nothing but the briefest of memories behind him to very few people. He knew his life style was so very rare, but it was his life. How he wanted it. The freedom he had always dreamed of while he had been stuck in that "farm" that his parents called home. The freedom to make his own choices without some sort of lecture about some old cult, an enemy from lifetimes ago, that was hell bent on taking the Earth down.

The simple bartending that Desmond did was what he loved to do. It was so simple. So humanly entertaining. To be involved in people's lives with out any obligation other than to provide them with whatever drink they wanted. To hear life stories that varied so much. And to just not have some psycho path screaming at him to do better. To be better at what ever it was that they were trying to teach him.

He had never been good at any of that. Barely able to keep up with anything. He excelled at evasion, though. It was how he was able to get away. How he was able to stay away for so long. How had they found him?

Desmond had just gotten home from a long day at work when he felt it. Nothing extreme. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. Just…off. He felt it first in the back of his mind. An inkling that something was just about to happen. He had placed his keys on the table next to the door and walked into the living room. Confused at himself, he had looked around, noting that nothing had moved. Nothing was missing. A few seconds more and the feeling had gotten worse. Urging him to leave.

He had listened to it then. He quickly grabbed his backpack from his room. The one he kept packed full of necessary items and quite a bit of money to keep him going. He always had it that way, just in case. He had barely made it out into the hallway before they came barreling into his apartment. Pointing guns at him and holding fierce expressions.

It was odd.

Desmond has close calls before. Where his "family" had almost found him before. He had seen familiar faces and decided to high tail it out of whatever town he was at. This had been different for him. The ones who were chasing him, The Order, or whatever his parents had called it, had never had such expressions. Never held a gun to him if they actually saw him. They had only yelled at him to stop or just tried to grab him and gave chase when he ran.

The bartender's feeling had gone from a whisper to screaming. He had thought he knew as much as he needed to survive. To keep away from The Order and live his own life. That's what he had thought. But as he turned to run to the fire escape and was tackled before he even took a step, he knew better then. He knew that he had been arrogant or ignorant, hell, maybe even both. He had merely been a child running away from his parents' wisdom.

He had thought that they were just crazy. Always talking about "the enemy" that was after them. That they as The Order were destined to protect the world from that enemy. He had truly thought they were just nutters that some how had slipped through the American system.

So now he knew better. He could see and smell it. He could even taste it. They had always been speaking truth. And he had not paid enough attention to truly know enough. These men with guns, pinning him to the ground, they were the enemy. The ones his parents tried so very hard to tell him about.

A bag was pulled over his head and his arms were pulled painfully behind his back. He tried to fight them, to shake them off, but it seemed more had come in after the first two. Helping to take him down. He felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck as his face was pushed into his carpet. He could feel the sedative course through his veins. Slowing his struggles and making him even more exhausted than what he already was from work. What ever they gave him, it was some strong stuff. It dragged him down quickly and thankfully numbed him a bit from the pain in his arms.

Just before he passed out from the drug, he was finally able to remember the name of this ancient enemy that was crashing into his world. Breaking it down like it was just something in their way to get what they needed.

The Templars.

* * *

Crash - 12/21/12


	2. Shackles

Before he even got onto the thing, Desmond knew he would hate it. It was the thing that embodied his lack of freedom. Lack of human rights to choose. So he resented it. An inanimate object that did nothing more than obey the orders of it's creators. To do what it had been created to do. That thought made him hate it more. He wanted to destroy it. To break it down to tiny pieces so they could never use it on him again. But he knew he could never do that. Because Desmond knew, deep down, that he and the machine were the same. The Animus had as much choice as he did. And in a quiet moment as he stared up at the ceiling of his prison he came to realize that he had never been free before. The bartender replayed his life before the Animus, recalled the life of Altair and what it meant to himself. He always had shackles tied to him. Shackles called fate. Shackles called destiny. And he would be forced to obey like he was nothing but a thing.

* * *

Shackles - 12/22/12


	3. Grace

Graceful was one way to describe Ezio. No matter what he did he had grace in his action. Be it swinging, running, stabbing, choking, whatever you could name. Even when he was hitting on women, and sometimes men. The horn dog did not seem to care.

The more Desmond watched Ezio's life through the Animus, the more he hoped the bleeding effect was transferring that grace. There was something about it that was addicting. Like anything that he did was just so easy. Desmond wanted that the most because he had always been anything but.

* * *

Grace - 12/23/12


	4. Wish

Desmond waved good-bye to his fellow bartenders at "The Shack". He was in small town USA and had been there for a couple of weeks now. Already he was itching to leave. To run, do anything to keep hidden in plain sight. The problem was he liked it there. In that tiny town of no more then 400 people. Sure they got travelers, but they still did not go main stream touristy.

The run away assassin walked slowly back to his apartment. He knew he did not have to worry about muggers, murderers or rapists. Not in this town. He even met the sheriff and liked the guy. Desmond hated that he liked it so much. Sighing, he looked up into the starry night sky. This was something else too. He could actually see the stars and feel like he could just dream again. About a future without his family hunting him down nor some imaginary enemy. A shooting star flew past his vision.

And Desmond made a wish.

* * *

Wish - 2/26/13


	5. Scream

Pain was all he felt. Pure unadulterated agony. He would have made a joke about pregnancy and childbirth if he was not in such torture. That was what he did, was it not? He laughed and made jokes, right? He could not remember. He did not remember what was causing it. What started it. Nor how to get away from it. He tried, though. He continuously tried to get away from it. To find something, anything, that would make it stop. Nothing worked. Not running. Not fighting. Not crying. Shadows moved in front of his eyes. His once pristine vision was now nothing but blurred half images that blended together to make a never ending mass. His mind was shattering. He knew it. He kept hearing voices. Things. Things he did not know anymore. He did not know what it, him, her, **they**, wanted...But that was just a lie he was telling himself. This was a game to them. All in good fun. This horror that they were acting out upon him. He wanted to kill them. Wanted to push them away. Nothing worked...Yet...He had not tried everything, had he. Through everything they had put him through, he knew not what anymore, he made sure to keep completely silent. Maybe, maybe that was it.

Desmond screamed. Continued screaming until he had no voice left; the pain never stopped.

* * *

Scream - 6/8/12


End file.
